“What has happened, my dear?” asked George, trying to raise her; but she only crouched lower, and grasped him more tightly. “Where have you been?”
“Father, you wouldn’t give me up—father, dear. Say you never, never, never will!” implored Joan.
“Never, if the choice rests with me.”
“No, no, no—say never—without that,” moaned the girl. “Father dear, please, please!”
“Joan, you will make yourself ill; look up at me,” commanded George, with a kind of gentle sternness.
She obeyed at once, lifting a face absolutely colorless, except for the dark hues of eyes and brows. He had never seen her thus before.
“Now tell me what has occurred—quietly. You must not excite yourself.”
Joan restrained herself so far as to speak steadily, but her voice was hoarse, and she trembled like an aspen-leaf.
“My dear child, you seem to me to be making a great deal of what is perhaps little or nothing. Brooke is no uncommon name—and for a Brooke to have black eyes is nothing unusual either. Nessie noticing a likeness is perhaps rather a strong point. But I don’t think much of his curiosity. That is a quality not at all confined to the female sex; and you did your best to rouse it.”
“I did not mean—Father, what shall you do?” asked the girl, growing quieter, though her face had still a scared look.